Trinomial

Trinomial

The sun. The

son nurtures there is

no more waiting

at the window, the sun

burns particles, yellow

dust, spring fine dust

exhaling. Anxiety upon

waiting arrives as soon as

the sun hides. Behind curtains

the son and nearby

walls breathe. The yellow

dust descends

appeasing.

© José Coelho, 2015

Missing shadow

How I would like to have said that
sometimes,
at noon,
while walking through
the streets
of my city,
under a dark burning
zenith-sun,
my eyes
get tempted
to unravel,
my hands
get thirsty
of touching,
the missing shadow
under my
feet.